KNOT: A Wake Family Novel (47 page)

“What a shame, sweetie. It’s your Christmas gift.”

Figures.

“It looks better on you,” I said and rolled my eyes.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Then, she howled. “Nora, it’s so good to have you here. So what do you want to do?”

Pulling my bag behind me, I had one mission. Get lit. I was treating this trip as a
real
vacation.

“I don’t care, Mom. Book us spa shit everywhere. Make sure they have wine.
Lots of wine
.” I’d never behaved this way around her. Typically, I was the one telling her to act her age. To stop drawing attention.

I didn’t give a fuck anymore.

It felt like game-on. If I had no choice but to be like her, then I should at least enjoy the perks.

Three days later, we were still doing it up. That evening we were getting massages in her game room downstairs. It was our second one that week.

I sipped from my cup through the whole in the table I laid on under a sheet, next to my naked mom under hers.

“So are you going to tell me what his name is?” I heard coming from her direction, partly muffled from the way the table held her jaw, part slurred.

I was drunk enough to tell her.

“Reagan,” I said. “His name was
Reagan
. Are you happy?” We’d bickered with each other all week, but I don’t think either of us took the other seriously.

“Reagan. Very manly. What’s the story? Did he want your money?” she asked flippantly as she sat up, the session ending. She wrapped her sheet around herself and looked thoroughly ridiculous with a white headband holding up her bangs.

“No, he wasn’t like
you
. He didn’t want my money.”

“Ha!” she cackled. “Did you offer?”

“Fuck, no. He wouldn’t have wanted it.”

“Who wouldn’t want that?” She flicked her hand, motioning it down my body. It reminded me of a time in my bedroom in Chicago. It fucking hurt, but what didn’t? She said, “Look at you. I
never
looked like you, and I’ve had some pretty incredible men, sweetie. You could have anyone. With your legs up to your armpits—and
rich
. Jesus, woman. Take your pick. They will
all
love you.”

A year ago, I would have thought, I’d love to have
all of them
, too. But, drunk at my mom’s, it was undeniable, I only wanted one.

“Have you talked to him?” she finally asked when I felt hot tears running down my cheeks. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried in front of my mother. At least a decade had passed. Maybe more.

She hopped off her table and climbed onto mine.

“No,” I said petulantly. “He hasn’t called.”

“Your phone broken? Can’t you call him? Is he one of those burly military men? Off on some crazy mission?” The way she asked making it sound like that’s what she would have preferred.

Did she live in a different romance novel every day?

“No. He’s a banker type.”

“Oh. Is he ugly?” she whispered. “Honey, turn the lights off. You can work with ugly if he’s good in bed.”

She would know. She’d had them all.

I looked at her sideways and mimed the equivalent of sarcasm.

“He’s beautiful, mom.” Saying it made more tears jump their banks and sloppily run down my face.

“Do you want
me
to talk to him?” She gave me a bump and a cheeky wink. He did sound right up her alley, even more fitting. We even had the same fucking taste in men.

I was doomed.

“No, Mom,” I said. “He deserves better than us.”

Offended, she sat back a little and held the sheet tighter. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, God.” I took a long sip from my wine, suddenly seeing the merits of drinking from a straw. It got the job done.
Way done.
“You
know
how we are.”

“I do?” she scoffed, and her blond hair shook loose from the elastic holding it back. “Yes, mom. You’ve been married how many times?”

“So?” she fired back.

“You can’t honestly tell me you believe in monogamy.”

“I sure as fuck do. I just haven’t found it. It’s called faith, Nora. Believing in something when you’ve never seen it.”

I didn’t have any faith.

Later that night, I typed the fake account another email, curled up in my mom’s spare bed. I told him how badly I missed him and how I hated oranges.

Yes—the bed was a queen, but it didn’t matter anymore. The whole fucking world felt like an empty mattress, I might as well get some lumbar support.

The nights were so long and cold.

Reggie—Sunday, April 5, 2009

I
t had been months. Long. Shitty. Cold. Months.

I was dating a girl named Sarah, who Craig and his wife set me up with. I hadn’t heard from Nora, and I didn’t call or text her either.

“You should be getting the invitation in the mail, but that’s the date. I thought I’d call and give you a heads up on the Warren Family News: Pacific Coast Edition,” my dad said. “How are things going with Sarah?”

I spared him most of the details, but I talked to my dad a lot. He knew the bullet points of what happened with Nora and me.

“Good. She’s great.” She was. Great and tame and predictable and typical and pretty and fine, but there was no thrill. No excitement.

A year ago, I would have been satisfied with Sarah. She was a graphic designer and owned a small business. She was shy and somewhat innocent. Still, we had been on several dates, and I hadn’t had sex with her.

Hadn’t even tried.

Every time she waited patiently for me to kiss her, I’d get a sharp twisting in my chest, and I’d chastely kiss her. It was like I’d been neutered. There was a time when I would have taken much pleasure in finding ways to crack Sarah’s pristine shell.

I didn’t have it in me anymore.

“Think you’ll bring her to the wedding?” he asked.

I didn’t see why not. Spending time in her company was nice; she was a good time. Maybe a trip would spark something.
Fuck it.
Maybe she’d make a move, and I could quit fucking thinking for twenty minutes.

I answered, with only mild enthusiasm, “I think so.”

“Good. We’d like to meet her.” My parents always spoke for each other. Rarely, me or I. Usually,
we
or
us
. It was then I wondered if I’d ever have what they did.

“Okay, Dad. I’m going to get a shower. I have a long day tomorrow.” Just like every other damn day.

“Okay, goodnight. Call your mom sometime, Reggie.”

I showered, and then decided I’d go ahead and ask Sarah if she was interested and free.

ME: Do you want to attend my sister’s wedding with me?

I set the phone next to me on my bed and flipped the television to the news channel. I didn’t really jump to see her reply when my phone buzzed, it didn’t really matter to me either way.

NORA: When is it?

Whoa. What the fuck did I do?

I’d texted Nora by accident.
Shit
.

My pulse raced.
What had I done?

I stared at it, then I scrolled up through our messages from last fall while she’d been gone. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

She didn’t say no.

If I hadn’t had so much Valium coursing through my veins to prevent me from over analyzing everything, I don’t know if I would have even gotten around to replying.

I’d thought about what would happen if we’d ever talked again, but didn’t actually expect it.

Nora hadn’t even come back to get her things. She’d sent movers to box everything back up and ship them halfway around the world to her new home.

That sent a clear message to me.

It was good for my resolve she hadn’t come back and done it herself. I would have been down there acting like a fool. Old habits die hard.

I hadn’t been good those first few months.

I ate. Exercised. Went to work, stayed late. Got up early and did it all over again. I existed, but just.

It hadn’t been until recently that I’d even went out. My first date with Sarah had been the first meal I’d had in a restaurant all year, except the occasional lunch for work. I’d been skipping the dinners.

In my mind, I was going through the motions. Hitting the next step. Moving on.

I guess.

It never felt like it was getting better though. Never felt any easier. My longing for her never subsided. I had to believe it eventually would.

So why had I accidentally sent a text I’d meant for Sarah to Nora, and what the fuck was I going to do now that she replied?

Was I supposed to tell her I’d made a mistake, and that the invite wasn’t for her? Could I do that?

I needed to do something, but my hands had a mind of their own.

ME: May 23
rd

NORA: Are you sure?

My ears were ringing, and my head began to ache.

I wanted her so fucking bad. My dick got hard as memories of us together trampled their way off the shelf where I’d placed them. The expression on her face after she came. The way my body felt connected to hers when we were a hot, sweaty mess of limbs.

ME: Yes.

NORA: Seattle?

Was she actually considering it? Could I pass it up if she was? It didn’t change anything, she still lived where she did. I still would never be able to give her more than what she already had. I wanted her with me, but there was so much for her in Switzerland.

Goddamn it. Missing her made me insane. Every day it hurt all over. Hurt like a son of a bitch.

ME: Yes.

NORA: I’ll see if I can make it.

ME: How’s the toe?

She didn’t answer that one.

I broke things off with Sarah the next morning. I didn’t give her another thought.

Nora—Monday, April 6, 2009

I
hadn’t been thinking clearly.

It had been so out of the blue when my phone chimed in the middle of the night. I’d been dreaming about a long, narrow maze, and I was thankful for the disturbance.

Maybe I was still asleep when I answered him; I wasn’t fully awake. There
was
a seven-hour time difference.

When he asked about my toe, I put the phone back down and tried to fall back asleep. I willed my brain to let me dream about him, though I seldom did. It was tragic.